Lady Willpower
by Murasaki Fujiwara
Summary: R.E.D Team is suspicious of the new layman and the cook employed to attend to Teufort; the contrasting, contradictory Jones sisters. As the men dig deeper, suspicion grows and the truth unfolds.
1. Chapter 1

The train rolled steadily down the track, the barren wasteland outside flying by as R.E.D Team returned once again to their eternal battleground.

The year was 1968. The Vietnam war was blazing in the East, but here in the American West, a separate and perhaps more damning war was brewing. The entire Global Economy rested on the shoulders of two seemingly immortal brothers; Blutarch and Redmond Mann, each trying desperately to tip the scales in their own favor. But adding to this nearly century-old witches brew of lies and deception was a rather mysterious antagonist. She herself was ancient in her own right. Her real name was unknown, her real age was unknown. The only thing anyone knew about her was her love for steak, sex with handsome men, cigarettes, and a zest for chaos and bloodshed.

She was the Announcer. The Commentator, and the sole spectator of this desperate family feud for global domination.

It was a safe bet to say that each man on that train at the very least resented that screeching old hag.

The Engineer heaved a sigh, clenching his fingers around the brim of his hardhat as he glanced about at his other teammates. It had been nice to fight on different terrain. After a certain amount of time, Tufort had ceased to become a challenge and evolved itself into an endless circlejerk of 'lets not even bother getting the intel and just shoot at each other.'

Sometimes, it really seemed like they weren't in control of their own actions, like some outside force was telling them where to go and what to do. And who and what to shoot.

It was irritating.

And it was taking it's toll the most on Scout. The kid already had issues, and that 'out of control' feeling only fueled his constant need for attention and approval. While he might have projected confidence, among his seasoned veteran teammates, every word and action seemed like he was begging for their approval, or whatever kind word they would toss his way.

Soldier seemed to pick up on that. Whether the man known only as 'Jane Doe' found a bit of himself in the boy, or whether he was just being nice (as nice as Soldier gets), remained to be seen.

The men seemed nonchalant, almost bored as the train barreled down the track towards the abandoned Russian base set in Americas vast wasteland. Soldier dozed beneath his helmet, the Pyro flicked it's lighter, staring out the window through it's seemingly permanent black mask. Menwhile Medic and Heavy engaged each other in a friendly game of chess . Sniper remained perfectly still, his slender frame filling the window as the Australian stared silently out into the blazing sunlight.

There was a tone of foreboding, a sinking chill of familiarity as they chugged across the plains. Engineer's radio crooned out a fuzzy tune as he fidgeted with the wires, muttering soflty to himself as he repaired the device.

The train was slowing to a stop at the station and the mercenaries all rose, gathering up their scant baggage and filing onto the platform, waiting for the transport vehicle to take them to their musty, dilapidated barracks. It popped and sang in tune to the horrendous whine of the wheels on the track, picking up whatever it could with it's little antennae.

The sun was creeping slowly west as the rickety old truck pulled up outside the station so filled with the disapproving frowns of the citizens of Teufort. To the surprise of the men, a young woman, seemingly not much older than Scout, hopped out of the truck. She was wearing a pair brown coveralls, which were coated in a layer of grey dust and flecks of paint and oil. Her cropped dark hair curled around her ears from beneath a red silk scarf and her eyes shone an odd color from behind thick, dark lashes. She was by no means particularly stunning or attractive, though her features held a simple sort of beauty one may have found so at earlier point in history.

Medic idly dusted a bit of dirt from the front of his sweater vest and cast her a disproving frown.

"R.E.D, I presume?" She addressed Engineer in a low, matter-of-fact voice. He removed his hat, nodding with a nervous smile.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Margaux Jones." She offered her hand in a rather off-putting, masculine way. "I'm the new layman. I was instructed by Madam Administrator to pick you up."

"Dell Conagher." Engineer replaced his hardhat, shaking her gloved hand nervously. By this time, the men had gathered around and had began to introduce themselves in a what as intended to be polite manner.

The woman looked flustered and overwhelmed, black eyebrows knitting slightly, but she smiled, lowering the ladder into the canvas-covered back and climbing into the cab of the old military transport vehicle.

Once the truck had started to roll, the men exchanged glances.

"Ain't no place for a girl." Scout muttered, leaning back against Heavy's duffle bag.

The men muttered in slow agreement, casting each other nervous glances.

The road to Teufort was long and winding, taking them far away from the actual town to the old complex. It was well after sunset that they climbed stiffly out of the back. Margaux was there to help them, offering uselessly to help with their bags, which, to her embarrassment, was politely refused by the men.

The barracks still held that same, musty, moldy smell as the men found their usual bunks, though there was something different. Fresh paint and two-by-fours plugged the holes where previously dust and rain had fallen though. The floors no longer creaked with every footstep, though in spite of the repairs, a hollow feeling of dread still remained.

Assassins, mercenaries, and deviants as they may have been, they still had homes, some had families, and they missed the general comforts of their past lives.

"I gotta' hand it t' the little lady, she did a mighty fine job fixin' this ol' place up." Engineer said, eager the break the heavy silence as he placed his sons teddy bear on the trunk beside his bed.

Soldier grunted a reply as he shoved his footlocker into place at the base of his bunk.

"Still ain't no place for a girl." Scout snapped from his top bunk, tossing a ball into the empty air and catching it absently.

"Isn't a place for a woman." Spy corrected smugly, opening his cigarette case and peering at the youth.

"Ya got a problem, Spoy?" Scout snapped, lifting his ball-filled fist as if to pelt the agent with it's contents. The Spy shrugged, turning away with a smile as he muttered in French. Medic sighed, shaking his head at the normal, but still aggravating outburst. His mind was elsewhere; he wanted to get back to his lab. Archimedes and his two snowy companions remained silent beneath their covered birdcage as Medic lifted it carefully, stopping when a smell reached his nose about ten feet away from the door to his laboratory.

It wasn't the unpleasant smell of blood and decomposition that normally filled the air there; it was the scent of spices and cooking meat.

Fritz's stomach complained upon the German's notice of the scent, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since noon that day. He finished getting Archimedes settled in, thankful to see that the layman, or woman, as it was, hadn't ventured down into the dank little room as of yet.

The night air was cool, though a perpetual dust hung in the air, something that Medic had loved about their brief stay at the sawmill in Washington; the air had always been fresh. And fresh cut wood was a far more welcome perfume than dust.

He walked around to the back to the barracks, towards the mess hall. The light in the kitchen was on, and there was a young woman, quite different from Margaux, inside preparing dinner on the primitive stove. It had been the last layman's job to fix dinner, and it usually smelled as bad as it tasted. He peeked his head in the kitchen door out of curiosity, forcing a smile as the other young woman looked up in surprise.

In contrast to Margaux, she was quite beautiful by contemporary standards. Her hair was carefully coiffured and fell across her shoulders in great auburn curls. She had the same startling eyes as the other woman, surrounded by thick lashes, but her eyes themselves were completely different color. They were a rich, true emerald green that held little yellow sparks inside them. Her manner was feminine, though somewhat stiff as she spoke, and after a moment, Fritz realized that this woman and the laborer were undoubtedly sisters.

"May I help you?" She asked, her right hand firmly grasping a knife as if she expected him to spring at her.

"Ach, forgive me, but I smelled you cooking…" Medic said honestly, stepping into the little room.

"It will be ready soon." She said, putting the knife down and turning fully towards him. Unlike her sister, her clothes were fashionable and she wore team colors, which suited her warm complexion.

But, in spite of her loveliness, there was something about her that made Medic uneasy.

She smiled, full lips curving upwards and she let out the tiniest hint of a laugh.

"I'm Bettie Jones." She offered her hand in a soft gesture, her eyes sparking with some kind of odd fire.

"Fritz Krutz." Medic said, taking her hand. It was oddly limp, which gave Medic the hint. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. Bettie frowned, but her eyes seemed to spark at this action.

"A pleasure." She said quietly, her mouth drawing up into a sensual smile.

The door behind them opened as Fritz straightened up, and there was Margaux. She had cleaned up, her coveralls unzipped to the waist and hanging off of her hips over her tool belt, revealing a red, long sleeved blouse. She was muscular and thickly built in spite of her surprising height.

"Oh, good evening." She said politely, drawing water into a pot through the pump mechanism and setting it on the stove.

Medic nodded, but Bettie frowned, removing the pot from the stove.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Making coffee. I thought it would be good…" Margaux said, giving her sister an odd look and trailing off. At this point, Medic got a better look at her eyes. They were most describable as a shade of grey, but the edges were a dark blue-green, and they had the same yellow flecks that Betties had, though not as much fire. Margaux face was less of a fashion-models and had the round, full look of a Victorian beauty.

Margaux rescued the pot from Bettie before she dumped it, glancing at Medic. "What brings you in here, Doctor Krutz?"

Fritz was about to answer when his stomach let out a loud moan. He clasped the offending body part in surprise, but Margaux laughed. Not the simpering giggle of her sister, but a hearty, full laugh that started in in the depths of her stomach and ended in the soft lines around her eyes.

"I'm sure my sister will have it ready soon." She said, crossing the room and clasping his shoulder in her right hand, herding him gently out the door he came in. "Now, is there anything you can think of that needs repairs tomorrow? I'm sure I'll have my hands full, but I want to make sure the base is in top shape."

"Ze vindow in my laboratory." Fritz said, glad for a change of subject. "Ve had a little accident about a month ago. It vould seem glass isn't Scout resistant." He ended with a laugh.

"Miss Pauling told me about that." Margaux eyes flashed as she too laughed, though this time it was a little more like a nervous giggle. "I'll see what I can do. It'll take a little while to get the glass ordered." She walked with him back to the entrance of the barracks.

"It is not terribly important, but it would be nice to have it fixed soon." Fritz said, grasping his stomach again, his eyebrows knitting.

Margaux nodded. "Duly noted." Her eyes met his briefly and she looked away, her full lips retreating into a shy, dimpled smile. Fritz patted her on the shoulder awkwardly and she straightened up.

"Well then, I will ring the bell when supper is ready." She said, suddenly regaining a professional manner.

The unease in Medic's stomach didn't seem to be due to hunger. There was something else there; an odd, unidentifiable feeling that had settled in there as Margaux walked away, disappearing into the night. The red of her undershirt was the last thing to vanish into the shadows as Fritz stood there, watching her leave.

* * *

><p>AN: After almost two years of my not writing any sort of fanfiction whatsoever, I decided to pick it up again. *throws confetti FUCKING EVERYWHERE* The format here has changed a tiny bit, so please bear with me while I awkwardly flounder about.

I really don't know about this story, but it's just a bit to get back into the swing of things. I've done a bit of writing during my hiatus, but it's all been original fiction in German, so my English is a bit rusty.

I started this tentatively last summer, about the time Meet the Medic came out, so please forgive the indiscretions and errors in the details.


	2. Chapter 2

Morning broke over Teufort and already the team was hard at work, readying themselves for yet another day of fighting, respawning, and fighting some more. Engineer checked and re-checked his toolbox, Heavy oiled Sasha's rotating barrel , Scout was stretching, and Demoman was tossing down the Scrumpy like the Prohibition was about to begin.

What made today different was the fact that they were running on full stomachs. They had awoken to Bettie's homemade pancakes, which had somehow greatly improved R.E.D morale. She had made it a point to flirt with them a bit, which also added to the feeling of invincibility among the men.

R.E.D Team filed into their spawn room, waiting for the countdown. Engineer nervously caressed his red toolbox while Medic gave everyone a quick burst of overheal.  
>The Announcers chilling voice began the countdown over the loudspeakers, and the men steeled themselves for the long day of fighting. The gates rose slowly, and they were out the door.<p>

In the barracks nearby, Margaux silently crouched next to Soldiers bunk, her ears, eyes, and nose tuned into her surroundings as per her training.  
>The barracks were one of the rare places that The Announcer hadn't bothered to bug, having greatly under estimated the mercenaries in her employ.<p>

Luckily for Margaux and Bettie, this drastic underestimation of the men played in their favor. Margaux was able to set up a small base of operations which was housed in a dugout she'd made beneath the barracks. The ten by ten square was filled mostly with the computer she used to relay information to she and Betties boss, Mr. Erland.  
>Mr. Erland was a jovial, suited man with a round face, blooming cheeks and graying blonde hair who worked for the United Nations, as did the two sisters in his employ.<br>Margaux gently pried up the floorboards, slipping into the little room, the machine already humming and tweeting softly beneath the floor.

With nimble, scarred fingers, Margaux twisted knobs and dials, coaxing the satellite connection to life. Mr. Erland secretary answered the crackling call and Margaux frowned.

"Florence, where's Mr. Erland?"

"In a meeting." The redhead secretary said shortly, peering over her horn rims at the grainy, black and white video of the young woman. Margaux sighed in frustration, pulling the scarf off of her hair and running her fingers through her black curls.

"When will he be free?"

"He's busy all day." The nasal redhead said, after a moment of admiring her lacquered talons.

"Then take a message for me: Tell him I said the view of the Grand Canyon is spectacular, though getting away from the other tourists is a challenge."  
>Florence looked up from her fingernails, her nose wrinkled in an unflattering way.<p>

"Agent 53, you're on vacation?" She snapped. "Wait 'till Mr. Erland comes out. Oh, I will have such a word with him…"

"Florence! Florence!" Margaux snapped, trying the gain the secretary's attention. "Florence, focus! Just give him the message for me."

"Can't you just send it in a postcard? Geesh."

Margaux was ready to reach through the screen and maul the grainy black and white of the ill-tempered redhead.

"NO, Flo, I can't." she hissed, dropping her voice as she thought she heard footsteps overhead. "It's important." Without waiting for Florence to waste another breath, she switched off the audiovisual and disconnected. She waited in silence for a full ten minutes, straining her ears and nose for any sign of the person she'd thought she'd heard.

Nothing.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she extracted herself from the underground chamber, carefully replacing everything in it's exact location and exiting the barracks carefully, rushing down to the mess hall to join her sister.

Margaux froze in the doorway as she heard a familiar voice in the kitchen as another dark haired young woman sat at the kitchen table, talking to Bettie rather intently. They were discussing a gun catalogue of all things…

"Miss Pauling?" Margaux said in surprise, peeking her head around the corner at the bespectacled woman.

"Hello, Miss Margaux." Miss Pauling said, adjusting her glasses, her slender frame perched on an overturned crate. "I looked all over for you, where were you?"

Bettie cast Margaux a warning glance, but Margaux remained calm, running her fingers though her hair. "I was taking a look at a window that needs to be replaced."

"Your tool belt is over there." Miss Pauling said, pointing at another crate where the item in question rested, a few stray screws and nails scattering the wooden lid.

"That's why I came back here." Margaux said, crossing the room and buckling the tool belt around her hips. "I keep forgetting things…I think I'm just not used to this place quite yet."

"Like your handkerchief?" Bettie asked, pointing at Margaux's head with a smirk that could have easily been mistaken as an expression of cruelty. Margaux reached up again, feeling it's absence on her head and swearing inwardly. She must have left it in the barracks…She could have punched Bettie for pointing it out at this exact moment. It could have gotten them 'interviewed' like the last agent that had been suspected. And he'd been posing as a director of all things…

"Oh no..." Margaux laughed. "I must have left it somewhere again."

Thankfully, Miss Pauling laughed, too.

益

Miss Pauling's visit had seemed innocent enough, but Bettie and Margaux suspected it had been a warning. Not from Miss Pauling, but from the Announcer herself, that the two women were not exempt from suspicion, especially when Miss Pauling told them to contact her if they needed anything, instead of running down into Badlands and getting it from the store there.

Luckily, the agents had expected this, and had already worked up a code. As U.N. agents, they already were well versed in many languages. They had a code of body language and slight vocal tics that would tip the other one off if there was danger.

Between them, they had established that Miss Pauling herself had been oblivious, but they were to remain on guard, and Margaux had contacted Florence, though Mr. Erland was unavailable, he would get the message for the time being…

Margaux checked the time. If she went back for her scarf, there was a chance the men could come back and catch her. After the lunch break would be the best time, but after noon, it was forgotten.

Several weeks passed , and the Jones sisters relationships with their respective team formed slowly, though a slight tension seemed to rise between the sisters. Margaux' self-esteem had taken a plunge over the last two years, and it seemed as if Bettie was exploiting it as she openly flirted with the team.

Bettie had set her sights on the Sniper, Mr. Mundi; a lanky, gruff man with a voice that sent chills down everyone's spine. Margaux thought it was dangerous, and often voiced it. This was where the rift between the Jones girls started.

One evening, when Margaux was hauling in a load of supplies sent out by Miss. Pauling, courtesy of the Announcer, Bettie came out to 'supervise'.

She was far too delicate to do the heavy lifting herself, but would often keep Margaux company in the past. However, tonight was different.

As Margaux hauled the large crates back and fourth from the loading dock to their destination, Bettie came and sat herself down on one of the larger crates.

"So, have you gotten anywhere with that Medic?" She cooed softly, looking at her sister through heavy-lidded emerald eyes.

"Have you gotten anywhere with the Mr. Conagher?" Margaux replied coolly, raising one black eyebrow. Bettie sucked in her cheeks, tilting her head. One painted eyebrow threatened to disappear further into her auburn bangs.

"That's your job. I'm just here for backup."

Margaux slammed down the crate she was carrying and looked at her sister.

"What the hell, Bets, I thought we agreed…"

"No, baby sister, you talked. I said nothing." Bettie said, narrowing her eyes. "I never 'agreed' to anything."

Margaux threw up her hands in frustration. "What the f-" she sighed, placing one hand on her hip. "Bettie, think of this logically. It has to be one or the other. The rest will just be a waste of time. This is our job. "

"Logically? Job? I'm doing my job. I am watching your back and getting information. That's what you told me to do. Ever think that maybe Mundi knows a little something?"

"We…" Margaux dropped her voice, aware that the walls had ears, literally, in some cases. "Our time is short. We don't know if and when it will run out. We absolutely cannot…"

"Exactly. Time is short. Life is short. I deserve to be happy for once, and if I get my job done while being happy, then I win."

"This isn't about you, or your happiness, or winning anything." Margaux said bluntly. "This is about stopping something big before it becomes a massive, world-wide problem."

"For the past year I nursed you back to health." Bettie said coolly. "I forwent my own happiness. All along, I've forewent my happiness. Why can't you let me be happy?"

"I didn't need you when I got back. I always have Montana to lick my wounds." Margaux interrupted, waving her scarred hand dismissively. "And don't forget what I forwent to meet your happiness."

"I didn't ask you to do that." Bettie replied coolly, hopping off of her crate. "And besides, if it weren't for me, you'd be on the streets with the rest of them. You just can't let me be happy, can you?"

And with that, the redhead stormed, off. Margaux picked up a crate full of ammunition and hurled it against the concrete wall with a scream of frustration. The box shattered, scattering ammo cans and shards of wood everywhere. A large bit of concrete sloughed off the wall and Margaux fisted her hands in her hair, arms shaking with anger.

益

The men sat in their barracks, a thick cloud of smoke hanging over the little table they were crowded around. Heavy peeked from behind his cards, the cigar in his mouth casting his face in an eerie crimson halo of light.

"What do you think of these leetle women?" He asked with the tone of a Russian mob boss as he placed his bet in the middle of the table. The room was silent for a moment before Scout spoke up.

"I still don't like 'em." The Bostonian said from his perch on a nearby bunk. "They make good food an' do their job an' stuff, but I still ain't gonna trust em', and this ain't no place for a couple of chicks."

Soldier sat with crossed arms, his face drawn up into a permanent, unhappy smile as he grunted in agreement. Demoman put down his bottle of scrumpy and looked blearily at them though his one eye.

"They seem like such nice little lassies. But I-" the rest of his sentence digressed into a series of unintelligible syllables that made the Pyro lift it's head and mumble as it patted the Demo on the back.

"They sure do fix some mighty fine vittles…." Engineer said from his little corner of the table. "I know that ain't no reason to trust them, but they ain't done nothing wrong yet."

Spy took his cigarette out of his mouth, his face impassive behind his cards. "I assure you if they were up to something, I would know." He said smugly, scanning everyone's faces. The Pyro mumbled in trollish disagreement from behind it's cards and Spy raised an eyebrow as he took the Pyro's bait.

Sniper put his cards down, tipping back in the chair and putting his arms behind his head. "I don't see what the problem is. We'll just 'ave Spy 'ere keep an eye on 'em. If it isn't too much effort." he purred with a sly sort of smile aimed at mocking the Spy's abilities.

Spy snorted. "Obviously, they're hiding something."

"But what is it?" Heavy said thoughtfully, laying his cards down. Spy followed suit, rising to his feet.

"I shall tell you exactly what it is."

"Hey, uh, before we get too inta this, where's Doc?" Scout asked suddenly, propping himself up on his elbows and peering down at the little group.

* * *

><p>AN:Editing what I wrote last summer while high on bondo fumes. I can't promise quality editing/writing, but I do now have a portal gun.

I have an urge to write an 'Engineer goes to Aperture Science' short story, but it'll have to wait until summer break.


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